


at the end of the world (you'll still belong)

by rhys



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Gen, Implied Character Death, The Calling comes for all Grey Wardens- even Kings and Queens and Heroes, no taint cure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-25
Updated: 2014-12-25
Packaged: 2018-03-03 10:38:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,731
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2847959
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rhys/pseuds/rhys
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Taint had Called to them, and he and his wife were here to respond to the threat, one final time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	at the end of the world (you'll still belong)

**Author's Note:**

> response to prompt fill over at tumblr requesting an alistair/warden fic on the Calling.

"In death…"  
  
Their voices mingled together for what he knew would be the final time, the air growing thick and even fouler with the stench of the snarling creatures closing in on all sides. Darkspawn blood spattered ancient thaig walls that still sung with the hum of long-forgotten forges, ghosts of what had once been in these Deep Roads, corrupted again and again by their most recent inhabitants. More and more blood, dark and toxic, running in streams that glittered like poisoned gems through the tiles made by dwarven artisans of ages past. This was it- hours of fighting and pushing forward and felling as many of the creatures as they could, but even Wardens could only hold out for so long, only had such a reserve of stamina. The Taint had Called and he and his wife were here to respond to the threat, one final time.   
  
He caught her wasting a precious moment of focus to glance over at him, knives continuing to lash out through force of habit, parrying, snaking out to slash a hurlock’s throat.  
  
The impression of her, to his sight, wasn’t quite clear- the Calling was dragging him forward, a siren’s song coaxing a proud dreadnought to dash itself against jagged seaworn stones and bring about its own destruction- but he could still see her, even in all this. His eyes always had been able to, even in the midst of complete and utter chaos, attuned to her every movement from day one, when she had been little more than an embarrassed joke and surprisingly firm handshake amidst the campfire smoke and barking mabari that characterized the Ostagar camp. She’d looked right through him then, dark eyes keen, and he’d never stopped watching Stella Cousland in return.

  
Here and now, she grinned wildly over at him, teeth bared and stained with blood but the expression no less savagely joyful for the blemish; she had always delighted in chaos, in finding her center and rhythm astride the clash of steel and baying of hounds and final hoarse shouts of enemies passing into the Beyond. Alistair caught a flash of flaming red curls, left loose around her face for this final push- the brightest spot in the murk, the brightest spot in Ferelden, the brightest spot in his life.   
  
Even stars, however, must meet their ends, despite an eternity illuminating the paths of all who gaze upon them. Even stars must burn out when they’ve given all of themselves just to bring light to others. Stars, however, did not die quietly- they did not expire gently into the vacuum of space, did not surrender to the void without a whisper of resistance.   
  
As Cousland, she had always been a fierce soul but quiet spirit, banishing shadows in the lives of all she lit, a beacon against waves of endless conflict holding stalwart in the face of it all. As the Warden-Queen, she had ruled Ferelden with the loving patience of saints for her people and the fangs of mabari for any who would threaten them, but her light had touched them all, had extended to reaches he knew she had never fully comprehended. As simply Stella, she had ruled him- body and mind and soul- without every once requesting the sovereignty to do so, and that was why he had so swiftly succumbed. Starshine asks for nothing in return for the gift of guidance in the darkest of times, and she had never asked for anything in return for anything she’d had done, for her heroism. She had only ever requested his love, were he willing to return it. As if he had ever done anything  _but,_ and oh, how he’d loved her, his awe at her- this flaming miracle, this otherworldly being meeting her final baptism in the boiling blood of Blight that had first allowed her rebirth as a Warden- never fading even an ounce even after years together. 

Yet, again, he knew all stars must fade and dwindle into the cool embrace of darkness- melancholy and uncharacteristically fatalistic thoughts for Alistair, but given the circumstances, he figured he was entitled. That galactic death, however, did not come without an explosion to rival the birth of the universe. If she was to go- ‘ _us, my love, always us, as we have always been, no?’_ she had whispered softly into his shoulder the night before, sweet and slight and her lips barely reaching the curve of his neck- she would rain down utter decimation upon these hellish creatures, a holy cleansing. Which god she was delivering the will of, Alistair still didn’t know- despite the lingering whispers of Good Chantry Boy and Andrastian Templar that sometimes howled accusations of heresy in his head, he, most days, suspected her to be a deity in her own right, some Lady of Light with her true name lost to the ages. A lost goddess to whom he laid himself at the feet of gladly as a supplicant, daily, soothed and guided back to a safe path when the nightmares drove him too far into the shadows. He had- and had long since stopped feeling guilt over it- consistently found salvation in the press of her hips to his, the brush of her calloused fingers through his hair, the way he whispered his name on nights when they lay tangled together and he marveled that something so bright could love something so foolish and broken. A lost, sarcastic bastard boy seeking a purpose, uncomfortable in his skin and hiding behind wry grins. She’d shown him. She’d shown him that and so much more, and here she was, showing the darkspawn one final time that they had chosen the wrong enemy. An explosion of blazing wrath, vivid and vital and vicious.   
  
He knew he should be terrified, and some numb part of him suspected he was. Yet even as more and more twisted blades and savage arrows slipped past his shield to pierce him, he could only return the grin of the woman fighting at his flank, and for a moment, the Song that had driven them there was a different song, a warm lullaby that came from acceptance.   
  
They’d lived well, lived true- ruled longer than he’d expected, and when the Call had come, it had come for them at once, as if even the Taint itself understood the bond between them. It hadn’t needed to be discussed- this end, as all things they’d ever done, would be faced together- no escort, no Legion of the Dead warriors clearing their way. There were no kinds and queens here- just Stella and Alistair come to full circle, back where they started, Grey Wardens ever battling a force they didn’t understand but knew they could conquer with the other at their side. To this, they could go in peace. Their daughter, Marianna- their sole heir, Alistair’s precious pride and soul- had watched their horses leave with damp but determined eyes, shoulders straight even as her heart broke, ever her mother’s daughter. Korin, the elderly but ever-faithful mabari of Cousland’s, whined gently at her feet, the giant only restrained from bolting after his mistress’s steed by the gentle hand on his collar. Ferelden, he knew, was mourning the loss of their king and queen tonight. As much as he ached for his child, his home, he knew this was their duty, the one they’d been bound to since the start. It was only fitting that they see it through. He wondered if he’d be allowed to worship this Goddess in whatever came in the Beyond. He wondered if the Maker would forgive him for his blasphemy, but found he no longer really cared, as long as he could follow his star into the night. 

The flood of tainted creatures was increasing- he was feeling more and more cuts opening on his skin, even as he bashed in an archer’s skull with his shield. The handle of a genlock’s axe collided sharply with the back of his knee and he dropped to his other, a strong arm at his side instantly pulling him back to his feet. His vision went blurry for a brief moment, but Stella must have worked some trademark rougish magic with the twin daggers he’d given her on the day of their wedding, ruby-set pommels flashing like drops of blood in the gloom. When his vision cleared, they were in a brief spot of clarity, dead bodies all felled all around- but he could see more genlocks were pouring through cracks down, and suddenly he felt hands yank on the collar of his armor, pulling him down, dark eyes boring into his. It was time. Stella smiled briefly, even though her hair was matted with blood and grime and there was pain in her gaze, there was fire and adoration there too, and she was, as always, as forever, the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. She pressed her lips abruptly to his with every ounce of fervor in her body and he crushed her to him, desperate, fingers locked and unwilling to let go as he tasted iron on his toungue. His heart was pounding in time with the Call, fevered and thrumming at a war call’s pace. 

She pulled away from his lips just enough to speak, though he could feel the shape of her words against his own. “In death…” She murmured, eyes flashing, grin flashing, wretched blades of the approaching darkspawn flashing. He smelled her scent of honey and lilies, though there was no logical way that could be, not with so much blood, so much blood, so much blood. Before he could complete their oath, she completed it for him, gaze intent and unyielding.

“ _… Give ‘em hell.”_  
  
A startled laugh burst from his lips- wasn’t that just like her to defy what was expected, what was known, always seeking a new and better path?- at the same moment the darkspawn reached them, and he felt points piercing his skin, filthy teeth, could feel himself being overwhelmed. Even as his limbs lost strength, even as the edges of his vision began to fray, he focused his sight on the shade of her hair until it was a star in the night sky, his entire world. Until there was nothing else in the universe.   
  
That final flash of red chased him all the way into the dark. 


End file.
